“I never thought you’d be this nice to me,” I joke.
“Guess you’re growing on me,” she says, and the way she looks at me, I get the urge to step closer. To feel her skin against my fingertips. To have her lips on mine. But I can’t. I’m not her goal. She isn’t mine.
“I’ll see you later then,” I say, stepping away.
“Have a good rest of your day. And I’ll send the questionnaire tomorrow.”
“There’s no rush. Take your time.”
“You sure?”
“Absolutely.” I smile because it’s true. There’s no rush. I’m not ready for her to fall in love with someone, even if that’ll help me as Saturn.
The door shuts behind me and I release a deep breath. I can’t keep doing this—working against her wishes to steal these little moments of selfish joy. Between our meeting and today, one thing is clear: Moyo’s not used to the support she deserves. She works day and night helping others, but refuses help in her personal life. Even in the most minute ways. Today, I managed to connect with her, but she needs someone who can be there for her at all times.
The answer is clear.
Her happiness is the most important thing, and I can’t not be Saturn. It’s impossible to quit. Right? Therefore, I need to stop kidding myself, schedule her second date, and play Cupid.
19Moyo
ANJOLA KUTI IS A HORRIBLE PERSON WHEN SHE THINKSshe’s right. Her laughter echoes over the phone and through my apartment.
“And you wanted to give up on love” was the first thing she said after I let her and Sewa know about recent Niyi-shaped developments. After our first debrief, I avoided thinking about dating—which went swimmingly, thanks to work—until I ran into him earlier today.
“You’re doing too much,” I respond with a vacant glare. Love? I’d only conceded to having a little crush and possibly wanting to kiss Niyi after our afternoon together. Tangling tongues does not equal melding lives. Love is out of the picture. Unimportant to this entire conversation. Niyi isn’t part of the permanent equation, and he’ll never be. When I said I’d useCupid’s Bow, I meant trusting the app, listening to my coach, going on dates, and finding true love. Not falling for myCupid’s Bowcoach. Attraction is one thing, but he’s not vetted, and I need someone who is. Someone I can be sure won’t hurt me.
“Andyou’renot doing enough,” Anjie retorts, folding her arms.
“What does that mean?” I snap.
She softens her voice, approaching me with the same caution one woulduse if they stumbled upon a skunk. “It means I want you to go for what you want and not only what’s on your grand list. I want you to be yourself. The Moyo we know and love.”
“I am going for what I want. I am being myself. That includes having a plan, and you know that. I’m open to the dates from the app. I went to the mixer, and I’m even talking to the infuriating, assigned dating coach. What more is there to do? How else can I be more Moyo?” I swing my arms in the air.
Silence falls, leaving only the rhythmic sound of my clothes swishing in the washer. My breathing settles, and I wait for one of my friends to speak. Anjie and Sewa share glances, so clearly, there’s more to say.
“Babes, are you okay?” Sewa asks in an attempt to break the ice. Nothing is melting.
“You know we love and care about you,” Anjie adds.
Sometimes when they tag team, it feels like an intervention. I hate it.
“Get this over with,” I say, and Sewa’s lips form a line. Anjie takes a deep breath.
“You know you’ve never really spoken about the whole C-word situation,” Anjie says, and I almost laugh her off the phone. Cole? I haven’t spoken about him because there’s nothing to say. It happened, I cried and wallowed, and it’s done.
“And yes, I know we urged you to get back out there, but you haven’t seemed excited by any of it,” she concludes.
“Till now,” Sewa interjects with a smile.
“Till now.” Anjie nods. “Till this customer service guy, or dating coach, or whatever he is, popped up. Now you’re smiling as you tell us—in heavy detail, mind you—about how he ironed your clothes. You’re back to spontaneously calling us, and you look happy. Not apathetic like you did when you were getting ready the other night.”
“I was excited,” I protest.
“You were excited about how you looked, which anyone would be,” Sewa says. “But you were very so-so about the date. We know you, babes, and that wasn’t you.”
“I’d even say the way you talk about this ‘infuriating consultant,’” Anjie says, using my words, which does force a smile, “sounds more exciting than whenever you told us anything about Cole.”
